


Lord Commander

by ofaclassicalmind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brienne is not pregnant, F/M, Jaime is still dead, More like a deal-with-it fic, One Shot, Season 8 Episode 6 Spoilers, my catharsis, not a fix-it fic, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 08:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18913567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofaclassicalmind/pseuds/ofaclassicalmind
Summary: Short and sweet one-shot. Immediately follows the first small council meeting.She knows he loved her. What else could she possibly come to learn?





	Lord Commander

**Author's Note:**

> So, like everyone else, I'm coming to terms with the ending. Hope you enjoy this little diddy!

The rest of the meeting had felt disjointed, as was to be expected of such a mismatched group of people. More than once, especially as the second hour neared its end, her mind had drifted to Sansa, and to Arya. She thanked the Seven every morning for their continued safety, and always asked the Mother to grant them mercy and protection, now that she could no longer ensure either fate for both of them. Sansa’s request that she remain in King’s Landing to guard her brother had not come as a surprise, but Brienne had been entirely unprepared for the heartache it would cause her.

She followed her feet into the White Sword Tower and toward the Kingsguard chambers as she began to search for Podrick, eager to get on with her day—

“Ser Brienne,” an even voice called to her.

Her feet froze on the stones, and she glanced in the Round Room to see Bran, staring out at her from the head of the table where Podrick had situated his wheelchair. Her former squire was standing beside his King, a sad smile on his face.

Feeling her brow tense with concern, she stepped into the room, the sunlight that poured through the windows brightening the air around her so much she was forced to squint as she approached the weirwood table, bowing.

“Your Grace,” she stated. “I had not expected to find you here. I was looking—”

“For Ser Podrick,” he finished for her. “I know.”

She nodded once, acknowledging the truth in his words, but that was when she saw the tome lying open on the table before the King.

“I came to read about the knights of my childhood,” the young man told her calmly, reaching forward to turn the page. “Ser Duncan the Tall, Ser Arthur Dayne...”

Her heart leapt into her mouth as he turned one more page beyond Ser Barristan’s, and she pressed her eyes closed, the wound the quill had rent into her heart only hours earlier suddenly reopening.

“Your Grace—”

“You did him justice.”

At this, her eyes flew open, searching his own for a jape, or a scolding for the words she had written, but there was none. In fact, he was almost smiling.

“Everything he said to you that night was true,” the King explained, “but our actions often speak for us when our words fail. I am glad to see his have been noted here. Children like I was will know of his deeds for years to come, thanks to you.”

Her eyes began to feel the strange warmth to which she was beginning to grow accustomed, and she set her jaw, swallowing hard against the onslaught.

“It is my responsibility to fill those pages,” she murmured. “I was only doing what is right.”

Bran smiled.

“You always have,” he responded, tilting his head curiously. “Perhaps love isn’t the death of duty after all.”

Brienne tried to smile back at him, but could only press her lips together in anguish.

“It has been my experience that love is the mother from which duty is born,” a voice said from behind her.

She turned to see Lord Tyrion standing there, a half-hearted smile on his lips as he stared up at her, taking a step forward.

“And dutiful he had become,” Lord Tyrion continued. “To the very end.”

Duty, born of love. Surely he didn’t mean—

But Lord Tyrion bowed his head a little, giving her a knowing look, only allowing his eyes to fall to the sword that remained strapped to her hip.

Her warm eyes went white hot instantly, and she felt her chin wobble at the threat of a maelstrom similar to the one she’d experienced in the courtyard at Winterfell.  

“My Lord,” she nodded, quickly averting her eyes as she turned to face the King. “Your Grace,” she said with a hurried bow, unable to meet the young man’s eyes before all but scrambling from the room toward her chamber as her tears began to fall.

She had always loved him. She had _always_ _known_ she’d loved him.

But now...

Entering the room, she sat on the bed, still in her armor, and allowed herself the time to cry for the first time since she’d learned of his death. She cried for every goodbye they’d ever shared; every word they had never uttered; every stolen brush of lips in the darkest corners of Winterfell.

As her sobs subsided, she finally noticed the way the room had been arranged; the small table had been placed on the left side of the bed, so that he was able to reach for what he needed with ease, and a quill rested peacefully next to the ink well just left of the parchment on the desk by the window, miraculously undisturbed by the fiery hell the city had become three weeks ago.

Slowly, she realized that everything she could touch and see echoed of Jaime. She heard his laugh bouncing off these walls. In the rays of winter sun that streamed in from the windows, she tasted his golden skin, and if she closed her eyes, she still felt the way he had swayed her gently in a dance for two in front of the hearth in her chamber, heard the feeble protests she gave as her feet clumsily stepped on his... And the chuckles she had received instead of reprimands.

His ghost was everywhere in this place, and at one time, it would have filled her with sorrow. But, to her surprise, it comforted her. She opened her eyes and wiped her cheeks clean, the grief that had drowned her for nearly two months giving way to something else.

All these years, she had known he loved her. Even when he’d said such terrible things to her the last time they had seen one another, she could see it in his eyes; she wasn’t a fool. But to know that her love for him had affected him, and his choices, just as deeply as his own love had affected her—

A knock on the door jarred her.

“Ser Brienne?” Ser Davos’s voice rumbled on the other side of the door.

Clearing her throat, she stood, walking to open the chamber door and reveal the humble smile on the older gentleman’s face.

“You are the Evenstar’s daughter, are you not?” he inquired.

She nodded.

“I am,” she confirmed. “Why do you ask?”

Davos smirked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“It was my way of thinkin’ that the two of us might convince your father to pledge a small fleet of ships to ferry supplies to rebuild the city,” he said proudly, leaning forward a little. “Not to mention, Lord Baratheon might benefit from a change of scenery for a few days,” he concluded with a whisper.

Brienne smiled at the thought of returning to Tarth for a short while; to see her father, the sapphire blue waters.

 _Sapphires_.

“We should flesh out the details before tomorrow’s council meeting,” she agreed.

“Then may I have the honor of escorting the Lord Commander to lunch to discuss those details?” he teased, standing aside so that she might leave the room.

Glancing back into the chamber that had once been his, she could almost see him standing there, his eyes shining, a half-smile on his lips as he nodded his head in encouragement. One blink and he was gone, so she smiled back at the empty, sunlit room, then turned, closing the door behind her.

Tyrion was right, as usual; duty and love were not separate, but born of one another.

As she walked down the corridor beside Ser Davos, her hand on Oathkeeper’s hilt, she made a mental note to mount Widow’s Wail above the hearth in her room. After all, what other changes could she possibly make to the space if she had been here with him the whole time?

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there you have it. Yes, she's going to know he loved her, but I don't think Brienne ever realizes that her love is one of the reasons he wanted to be an honorable man; that her love helped him believe in himself, and that in the end, he returned to Cersei not simply out of love (ick), but most importantly, out of honor and duty to his family. I don't see the point in fighting the ending anymore, since they're not going to change it. But, with this reasoning, I can rewatch everything (except the 'innocents' line) and be okay with it, I guess.
> 
> Also: She has to come to terms with his death in a positive light, since a Tumblr poster pointed out that she is literally in the room that was his as Lord Commander. This will likely be my last fic, since this ship has destroyed me and I'd like to start writing a play I've had in my head and my heart for about two years. Wish me luck!


End file.
